Omonia, next station is Omonia

It is this boy, his name is Athanas, his skin is tanned and his eyes are grey. I smile at him from the other side of the street, we come to talk.
"Leave the city if you can, there is nothing for people like us here."

He klings to his skateboard, I notice dirt underneath his fingernails and I am not disgusted by it. He laughs at his own words, just to hide his despair.
He tells me this story about a fisherman his grandfather used to know.

Athanas ends his story with "The fisherman grew old and died."
He says he some day will grow old and die, some day I won't even remember that I met this guy named Athanas in that particular City.